Love Will Keep Us Alive
by SilverStarsAndMoons
Summary: Mark and Addison end up back at the brownstone on Christmas Eve, both hurt and scared by the changes in their lives. Lyrics and title taken from the Eagles song, "Love Will Keep Us Alive".


It's funny, how you find yourself running away from things that could conceivably be categorized as first world problems. A lesbian mother; an unexpected daughter. You know, stuff that people should be able to handle, and do handle, every day.

But for people that have always had everything handed to them on a platter, or, in the case of Addison and Mark, that they've been able to push through with minimal heartache and maximum strength, these situations are those that can break them. And it doesn't matter that there might be a chance to open their minds, or to love someone new – the crisis halts them, throws them into bed, shuts them off from their loved ones, and makes holidays like this hard.

Addison used to spend Christmas excited. The product of a Connecticut WASP family, she knew how to go all out for the holidays. Though Mark, too, was a product of the same sort of family, he didn't care as much about the trappings of the holidays as much as he cared about the feeling of fellowship and family that he never had growing up. They worked well together, through the Christmas season – he would put up the tree and she would string the garlands of fresh holly and evergreen, and for once, they didn't fight about finances, or other relationships, or Derek, or any other irritating habits and situations that comprised their relationship.

So, it's not surprising that he finds her in the old brownstone that she's kept the rent up on these past two years, just for a place to hide; he knew that she'd never given up the place, though she wanted to, and threatened to.

He escaped two days ago. He didn't bother leaving a note for Sloane, but he did leave one for Lexie, explaining. It's too hard, and he can't do it. Simple as that. It's weak, and he's somewhat ashamed in the back of his head, but he just . . . doesn't care. He needs a place to hide, to get his head together.

Addison did not leave so dramatically, but she is surprised when she opens the door to his knock.

"How'd you get the lights up by yourself?" His old smirk, the one she knows so well, is comforting in a way, and she shrugs back at him, shivering a bit in the cold New York air.

"I paid a guy to do it. I'm not risking my life on a ladder." She pulls the door open wider, and he steps through, touching the handmade wreath as he goes.

She doesn't ask him why he's here, and he doesn't ask her why she's not in L.A., either. Instead, she pours him a glass of old port and he swirls it around the balloon glass for a moment before he decides to be the first one to talk.

"So, I have a daughter."

"Why am I not surprised?" Her voice is matter-of-fact, but he senses a bit of triumph behind it, and he frowns.

"You don't have to sound so happy about it."

"I'm not. I know you never wanted kids." Now her voice is cold, and he puts the glass down, stands.

"I'm sorry, I guess I'm bothering you."

"No, but I am interested as to why you're here . . . and how you knew I'd be here."

"Archer called me."

"Oh."

"Listen, Addie, I'm sorry. I can understand that it must be a shock – "

"You know, don't. Because I just don't really want your sympathy or anyone else's. I don't want to discuss it."

"Okay."

He stands against the fire, leaning his arm against the mantel, in the old way, and she suddenly starts to cry.

"Oh, Addie, don't." He heaves himself off the mantel and sits down beside her. Despite her resolve not to talk about it, she ends up leaning her dark-red head against his shoulder and sobbing for a few moments, in a way she never could with Sam, or Naomi, or anyone.

He wraps his warm arms around her, pulling her in close, and she listens to the sound of his strong, sure heart for a few moments, letting herself take comfort from him.

He kisses the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her shampoo, her perfumed hair bringing him back to when he used to cuddle her in bed after sex. She'd sleep on his chest, like a child, and he would lie awake and contemplate her, wondering why this beautiful woman wasn't enough for his best friend.

She moves her hand across his chest, up to cup his cheek. Her eyes, watered-sapphire blue, find his, and she tilts her head to his, meeting his lips.

He doesn't really want this. He loves Lexie, and he's vowed to give up his cheating ways. But Lexie isn't here, and Lexie doesn't fulfil this need in him. Because Addison and Mark, they take comfort from each other when life gets to be too much. They work best under desperation.

He kisses her anyway. She, with no regrets, kisses him back.

They know this can turn into a one night stand. He'll regret it; she might, but she'll regret being alone, more. She thinks she wants it, but she doesn't. She came here because she knew he would. She knew, nine times out of ten, that he can find her in the darkest fog; without even knowing her issues, he finds her when she needs it most.

His face, pressed against her hair, crumples in pain, and she feels his shoulders shake. Mark Sloan never cries. She holds him tighter.

"You'll do the best for her. You do the best for everyone."

This isn't always true, but it pulls him together. "What the hell am I going to do with a seventeen year old?"

"What would you do with a baby?"

"Give it to you." They both begin to laugh, but he becomes serious again. "I just don't want to be this person. I don't want to be a father."

Addison pulls away from him, throws up her hands, stands up. "I know, Mark. I know you don't. But this time you don't get a choice."

"I didn't last time, either."

They stare at each other, anger in their eyes, and then she sits down, crossing her legs. "It's not like it matters about your feelings now. She's there, and you've got to deal with it."

"And she's there, and you've got to deal with it," he parrots, waggling his eyebrows, but Addison smiles, finally.

"Touche."

He opens his arms, and she crawls into them again. "Thank you for having me."

"Don't thank me," she whispers, and kisses him again, this time, longer, deeper.

"Merry Christmas, Addison," he whispers into her hair, and she holds him more tightly.

"Merry Christmas, Mark."

_When you're hungry, love will keep us alive._


End file.
